


help needed

by Anonymous



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Crack, Explicit Language, Gen, Gross, Inappropriate Humor, Misunderstandings, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: just a favor.





	help needed

**Author's Note:**

> it is kind of gross! but doesn't get explicit about that. you'll see (or not, is up to you)...

Demoman followed Soldier through the hallways of the base. Soldier moments ago asked him for help. Because of the inexpressiveness of his voice plus the damn helmet covering his eyes, Demo could only tell that it couldn't be something too serious, and at the same time, was something that Soldier wanted done as soon as possible (as everything, actually). Didn’t matter, Demo expected to be soon more than later back with the beer waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Here.”

They were in front of Soldier’s room. Soldier pulled out his keys and opened two of the locks of his door. Unnecessary of course, nobody cared about Soldier possessions, and stealing from teammates would be quite low and also just as unnecessary. At least the third and as redundant lock wasn’t closed, or Soldier couldn’t have finally opened the door after being done with the other two.

“Come in.”

“_Yes sir!_” mockingly replied Demo.

“Shut up!” Soldier barked back while turning around to look at Demo’s shit-eating grin, who was snickering. Soldier knew well that Demo never responded that seriously, being the kind of men who only respected their own mother as an authority.

Soldier entered the room, Demoman behind. 

“I’m serious!”

_Almost everything is serious for you_, reflected Demo in his mind.

“This isn’t the moment for jokes,” Soldier continued, “I need your help.”

“Ye still don’t tell me what you want! How I can help you like that, lad?”

Certainly Soldier could be childish at times.

“You will see...”

After closing the door, Demoman was welcomed by a huge United States flag in the wall behind Soldier’s bed, that was next to the left wall. A lamp, an electric shaver, a deodorant and Soldier’s shotgun were few objects in his nightstand. The mirror in his wardrobe was broken, probably in a fist of rage. Same wardrobe was likely to be stuffed with things that weren’t clothes than clothes. The dump was missing, and a few paper balls were on the floor. The whole room smelled like gunpowder and dust. Soldier presumably cleaned more other places of the base than his own room.

Unlikely, but If he wanted help cleaning, he was going to get a kick in the arse by Demoman as response. 

Soldier opened took off his belt and jacket, throwing them to the floor. Demoman raised a brow. Soldier continued and took off his shirt just as the other pieces of his clothing.

“Soldier-” choked Demoman, starting to worry.

Without saying a word, Soldier lied down in the bed, face in the pillow and arms lifeless next to his broad nude back. His boots hung from the bed. 

Demoman almost jolted. He walked backwards next to the door until he touched it, feeling his heart pounding out of his chest (and vest) at any moment.

“Soldier. What the actual fuck,” he urged.

“Oh...” muttered Soldier as he discovered something. Demoman couldn’t watch his face turning red. 

“Don’t you _ DARE _ to get any ideas scot!”

“Well then ye need to start giving some fucking explanations!”

In absolute consternation, the brain of Demoman was on fire. The rest of the warm was in his cheeks and ears.

“I-” Soldier gulped. “I need you to squash a pimple on my back,” he burbled.

“A _ what?_”

Soldier signed ashamed. “What I said.”

“A pimple. A fucking...” Demo couldn’t believe it. “_You have to be fucking kidding me._”

“It is serious!” Soldier raised his hands up in the air. “I can’t reach it,” he said, “and it hurts,” he added with a barely audible voice.

With a hand in his forehead, Demoman gave a ridiculous nervous laugh, still feeling confounded. “Bloody hell...” he muttered.

“Are you going to leave me waiting or-”

Before Soldier could finish, Demoman sat astride in his lower back _ with all his weight _, making Soldier lose his breath in the process.

“Yer asking me something really _ nasty _, ye know? Also, aren’t ye too old for this...?”

Soldier only managed to make noises, trying to recover his composure after being crushed by surprise. It was indeed nasty, but not as bad as what they saw everyday in battle (it was a WAR!), he figured that Demoman should be fine with that request. Besides, it was the truth that he tried to fix his problem by his own, not having any results yet, driving him _ crazy _. 

This was a desperate solution for a nerve-racking problem. 

“Oh, I was too harsh, isnae it?”

Demoman got in his knees.

“Yes-I mean, _ no_. Don’t try to make this weird!”

“You’d mean more weird,” Demoman corrected, knowing that he was right.

Soldier groaned. “Just get this done already.”

“I can’t see it.”

“What?! It’s, right, there!” 

As much Demo made an effort with his only eye to see the blemish, he couldn't find it with only his sight. He only saw a few scratches, pinkish lines, a few with dry scabs. Soldier must be truly hasty about it. 

Soldier tried to show him where with his arm, only managing to show a general direction (and getting an arm ache due to the sudden and gruff movement).

Demoman began to try to find the damn thing with his touch, using both hands and searching near the trace of the scratches.

“Oh, I found it.” Cervical area, next to the spine: too high for Soldier’s fingers of his both hands to touch, leaving him unable to crush that thing for his own.

Soldier didn’t need to be told, feeling the stinging in his back.

“This is still just a knob.” That’s why Demo couldn’t find it, he was looking for a not-pleasing-to-look-at yellow pustule. “This isn’t ready to be squeezed.” That also was probably the reason why he only were able to scratch his skin.

That wasn’t what Soldier wanted to listen. He grunted loudly and knocked his head down in the pillow in a defeated manner.

“You can still-”

“Nuh-uh, I’m nae doing that.” 

Not dealing with pus and blood if he doesn’t have to. Fuck-no.

Demoman sat again in Soldier, amused. It was probably the best thing that happened to him in the day, as gross as it was - or could have been. 

“Tell me that you at least closed the door with the bolt.” The last thing Soldier wanted was a (bigger) humiliation, still ashamed about the whole situation. No other merc that wasn’t the Demoman could be sitting over him without being kicked in the ass. Although, if he stayed any longer...

“Soldier, nobody wants to go to your fucking room.”

Suddenly, both heard the creak of the door opening.

“Hey Soldier! You gotta see this-”

A surprised Scout did visual contact with Demoman still sitting over Soldier. Scout cut himself with a yelp, closing the door again with a slam. His strides from beginning to run were heard for both of the bombers.

Soldier stood up with violence, nearly sending Demo to smash his temple in the night table and mangling his head in the act. Luckily, Demo was sober enough to change his direction to the other side, falling safety with his back between the bed and wall, being thankful for once of not being drunk.

It went without saying that Soldier was furious. He slammed the door open, wanting to give some ‘explanations’ to Scout before he could tell anybody about what he _ thought _ he witnessed.

But some old habits are stronger than his immediate desires to beat up Scout. More exactly, his paranoia. After closing the door with another slam, Demoman listened to Soldier closing the door from outside.

Demoman jumped off the bed. He knocked on the door imploring for Soldier to open the door, only getting silence as an answer.

_ Fuck. _

He dry sobbed, lamenting out loud not being drunk at the moment. 

Pondering his options, his first idea was kicking the door open, breaking it in the process, something that knowing that Soldier _ had to be _ already mad with him wasn’t a good option. Taking the screws of everything off without a screwdriver would end in the same way, either because using a bad tool he could find in replace or because him kicking the door anyway in a fit, after inevitably losing all of his patience.

The last option was sleeping. He shrugged, it was the best option.

Without taking off his boots (_fuck you Soldier_), he relaxed as much as he could in the bed (_leaving me fucking locked_), lying on his side. 

_Fuck you Soldier, and fuck your pimple. I hope that thing turns into a fucking boil. Next time ask Medic for that nasty shite_, were the last thoughts and wishes of Demoman before falling asleep with a mischievous smile.

**Author's Note:**

> writing practice number 1! the [other one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814884) was already out.


End file.
